


Don't Make Me Say It

by mothdotjpeg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Guilt, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothdotjpeg/pseuds/mothdotjpeg
Summary: “We forgave each other years ago, remember?” Will nodded, unsure what was going to happen. “You have broken my heart many times, but I have never been able to stop myself.” They were close. So close it felt suffocating. Warm. No, not warm. Hot. Burning. “You have never doubted if I was in love with you, only if you were also in love with me.”|Will askes Hannibal if he's in love with him|
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	Don't Make Me Say It

He wished he could explain it better. The feelings that snaked up his body, crammed in through his pores and left him feeling full and empty at the same time. It was harder than he expected, explaining. But it was hard. So he stared at the space next to the doctor’s head. Trying to figure out something to say. Some way to get the other to understand.   
He had the words. Exactly how it felt. Yet he lacked the willpower. The ability to speak them. Fear? Anger? Deep destruction in his chest? Something that caught in his throat.   
It was warm. No, not warm. Hot. Burning. It pulsated through his veins, making his heart beat loudly. The adrenaline lacing his bloodstream as he gagged on the heat. It was in his mouth, on his teeth, smeared across his face. Red and hot. Making his skin burn and his tongue crave more. It was power. A title, a crown, a gift. He wanted to throw up, shower his skin clean. Scrub until there was nothing left. Until he was innocent. But it caressed him. The blood that coated his skin and his throat, drowning him in the feeling. The good feeling.   
He couldn’t say it now. It settled in the base of his stomach, sat behind his eyes. Admitting it made it real. So he didn’t say it. Just stared past the doctor’s head, letting the silence coat his now clean skin. It was clean. He had scrubbed it away. Wiping himself clean of a crime which he was still guilty. But oh, did the guilt feel good.   
“What are you thinking?” It wasn’t an analyzing question. He wasn’t sitting across from the doctor in their chairs, confessing in him. It was just a question. Caring, in its own way. Expecting a response, hoping to be trusted with an honest response. That was what humans did. Talked, cared, questioned, and responded.   
“Do you think about me when I’m not here?” Of course, he was always here now. They were stuck together. The tone of his voice meant the years apart. Meant the months when he couldn’t trust his own mind, convinced that the doctor had cared.  
“Yes.” The response was simple. Leaving everything open, not really responding. Just stating. Of course, the doctor thought about him. Was he really so foolish not to understand the meaning? He was probably just being coy.   
“You know what I mean, Hannibal.” He hissed out his name. An admission to who he was with, and what had happened. How easily he had caved to his wants. Just by saying his name, for the first time since they had hurled off the cliffside, he was admitting the present. The time they shared, the silence they sat in. No more Dr. Lecter. He was Hannibal.   
“What do you mean, Will?” Hannibal spoke softly. It took everything in Will not to yell. Not to get upset with his questions. He knew what Will meant. But he always made Will say it.   
“Do you,” He thought carefully. Hesitated. Making eye contact with Hannibal as he spoke. “crave me?” It was similar to a question he had asked Bedelia what felt like ages ago. Maybe it had been. But he didn’t feel brave enough to ask that to Hannibal’s face. This had the same meaning, the same effect. Hannibal tilted his head in thought, patiently waiting for Will to explain it more. He sighed. “When you kill them, do you see me in their eyes?” It came out in a whisper. Unsure if the answer was something he wanted to hear.   
“I won’t hurt you again, Will.” That wasn’t the question. Hannibal sees the annoyance in Will’s eyes. Asking him to answer. He waited.  
“When you saw me, when I. When I stood there, covered in his blood. Did you think it was beautiful?” It was beautiful. Will had said so. He knew that Hannibal found the blood, the death, the pain, beautiful. But that wasn’t the point of his question. Confusion sat in Hannibal’s eyes. Probably fake. Will meant: did you find me beautiful? But he didn’t say it.   
“You found it beautiful, Will.” There was something in Hannibal’s voice. “You don’t just tolerate it anymore?” Why was he asking questions? Will looked at his shaking hands, away from Hannibal’s gaze. He hated this.   
“That isn’t the point!” His voice surprising him with its loudness. He stood from where he had been sitting, turning away from Hannibal. It felt bad, the eyes on his back, his body shaking with fear. Hannibal was waiting for the question he knew Will wanted to ask.   
“What is the point?” Will snapped around to find Hannibal’s body in front of him, standing now too. They were inches apart. The heat between them felt like it had before. The burning hot blood that had covered Will. The guilt he felt, that he craved to feel.   
“Don’t,” He couldn’t look at Hannibal, couldn’t bear to ask it. “Don’t make me say it.” But he knew Hannibal would make him. Would pretend to be naive. He hated it. Admitting that he wasn’t sure. That Bedelia’s response wasn’t enough. That Hannibal’s actions weren’t enough. He had to hear it.   
“Make you say what?” So close. The play-pretend in his voice. So naive, so confused. Will closed his eyes tight, feeling the blood covering his body. Yearning to feel something like it again. He was done tolerating it. He needed to be guilty of his crimes.   
“Are you in love with me?” It came out as a shout and a whisper. Confused, upset. Needing an answer, the desperateness in his voice not hidden. He knew Hannibal was enjoying his admission. He waited in the silence. Dared to open his eyes to see Hannibal standing there. Body still, mouth closed. His eyes pleaded for a response. So he didn’t have to feel stupid here standing, craving, yearning, waiting.   
“You have broken my heart many times, Will.” His voice cracked as he spoke. Something Will had never heard. Never seen the pain on Hannibal’s face. Guilt rising in his chest.   
“I. I understand,” Will stepped back. Of course, Hannibal couldn’t love him. He had hurt him too many times. He was a fool for thinking Hannibal would spend three years in prison just for Will. Some mistakes could never be forgiven. He had pushed Hannibal out. That was his fault. He felt that guilt.   
“Will,” Hannibal grabbed Will’s waist, stepping forward. “We forgave each other years ago, remember?” Will nodded, unsure what was going to happen. “You have broken my heart many times, but I have never been able to stop myself.” They were close. So close it felt suffocating. Warm. No, not warm. Hot. Burning. “You have never doubted if I was in love with you, only if you were also in love with me.” Faces close, noses almost touching. Will’s breath was caught in his throat, lost in Hannibal’s eyes. “Are you?” Such an innocent question from such a guilty man. Letting his walls fall for Will. Of course, he was. He was in love with him.   
“Yes.” Was all he could say before pulling Hannibal closer, burying his head into the crook of his neck. “Yes, yes, yes.” He said into Hannibal, over and over and over. Until he let his eyes close, holding on tighter than he had on the cliffside.   
“Good.” Was all Hannibal said as they held each other. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short one, but I hope you liked it!


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